Title: It Must Suffice
Author: htbthomas
Fandom: Daredevil (comics)
Rating: PG-13 (for violence and religious themes)
Word Count: 1,700 words
Summary: "He is, after all, the Man Without Fear. He does not fear anything for himself, for his physical body, nor indeed his soul. He fights to save others, the ones he loves." Spoilers for "Without Fear", current DD arc, set between Daredevil 103 and 104.
Author's Note: Originally written for elspethdixon's request in the 2007 seasonalmarvels fic exchange. Thanks to Mark C and Van El II for the beta. This story was written before Daredevil 104 was published, so there are several details that are now incorrect, but I was trying to capture one of the possibilities that might happen after the end of #103. :)

I offer you, Lord
My thoughts: to be fixed on you;
My words: to have you for their theme;
My actions: to reflect my love for you;
My sufferings: to be endured for your greater glory.
–from The Universal Prayer: God Alone Suffices, Pope Clement XI

Matt Murdock leaps between rooftops, the wind rushing past his leather-clad ears, so quickly that he is not perceived as even a shadow from above. His mind, honed to sharp focus by his legal training, is nothing compared to the sword-sharp edge of his thoughts tonight. His wife, Milla, lies in a drug-induced stupor in their home, a court-appointed nurse keeping watch over her every waking delusion. For mingling with the sedatives is Larry Cranston's toxin, slowly poisoning her mind... her body... her life. A man already lies dead, pushed into the path of a commuter train from a brutal push of Milla's hands.

No, Matt reaffirms to himself. Mr. Fear's hands. He cannot see it any other way, no matter what really happened. His gentle, loving Milla would never...

He reaches the edge of the building, hurtling himself into the air, no care for the number of stories between him and the ground. He is, after all, the Man Without Fear. He does not fear anything for himself, for his physical body, nor indeed his soul. He fights to save others, the ones he loves.

As his hands reach out, grabbing onto a pole to swing forward with incredible momentum, his thoughts hone the knife-edge: he has offered everything he is for this life – even the things he has never willingly placed upon the altar of justice. He is completely devoted to saving Milla's life and soul, long after he has given up any hope of truly saving his own.

He reaches the warehouse, crashing feet first through the high windows. He sees no need for stealth this time, not when he suspects that Cranston will be expecting him. The Ox, even fearing the welder's torch, gave up Mr. Fear's hiding place far too quickly. But the Enforcers are his only link and he is nearing, no, past the point of desperation. The thought of Milla spurs him onward as his boots speed toward the caped figure below him, his henchmen. Mr. Fear turns, his metallic face catching the light of the harsh work lamps above.

Too late he realizes the heart signature of his target, and before Matt's boots can connect, a pair of thick hands reaches out of the cape to grab Matt's ankles. With superhuman force, Matt is thrown into the wooden crates several feet away. He shakes his head to clear it, immediately picking out the forms of the Enforcers. To his left, Fancy Dan – he doesn't know how he managed to get out of his bonds, or even make his way over here as injured as he was, but it matters little now. To his far right, Montana… and in the center, under the cape, the Ox.

Ox removes the mask with a pained grimace, his burns from their earlier altercation gruesomely visible. "Ya didn't really think I'd tell ya just where to find him, didja Murdock?" He clenches his fists in fury, and the knuckles crack spectacularly. He advances on Matt, his goons right behind, each still sporting the wounds Daredevil had inflicted.

"Brilliant plan, Ox," Matt says almost tonelessly. He shifts slightly, tensing his muscles to spring...

Ox begins to smile, but a second pass of the words through his head makes him pause, frowning. It gives Matt the opening he needs.

Matt leaps forward, billy club striking Ox's larynx with incredible force. Though it does little damage, Matt is able to somersault over Ox's shoulders and out of his reach. Normally, he would try to subdue his opponents as quickly as possible and get out of the way… but the thought of Milla pumps through his veins. Rather than counteract the effects of Cranston's fear toxin, the two seem to intertwine. The need for retribution sings in his blood.

He becomes a blur of fists and boots, club and muscle. The Enforcers are already hurting, and he takes advantage of that. So they did not divulge Cranston's real location to him before? They tried to bluff the wrong blind man.

"I offer you, Lord…" he subvocalizes as he leaps into the air above Montana's outflung lariat. "My thoughts: to be fixed on you…" He does not feel the slightest cognitive dissonance at comparing these words to his current situation with Milla. "My words: to have you for their theme…" Right now, she is his all, she must be.

He lands on the top of another crate, just as Fancy Dan targets Matt with an axe kick. Before the kick connects, Matt parries the blow with his forearm and kicks him dead-center in the chest, sending Dan flying backwards into Ox. Nimbly, Matt jumps forward, raising his billy club back for another strike…

A searing pain lashes across the back of his hand. Montana's lariat has bound his fist to the club. Montana yanks him away from Fancy Dan, who is panting on the floor, abdominal stitches seeping blood.

Before he can react, another loop winds around his other arm, and Montana captures Matt's arms behind him. His legs are still free, though – and close enough to the electrical box he senses on the wall behind him. Flipping forward, his feet strike the box, discharging a powerful jolt. He is flung away, and Montana releases his hold on the other end of the lariat just as the warehouse is plunged into darkness.

"Murdock, you demon, you think this is gonna help?" the Ox derides him. But he cannot hide his elevated heartbeat or the reek of his confusion. With his arms still trapped, he is handicapped, but now the odds are more even. The darkness is his ally now. Matt notices a large plastic-wrapped bundle slowly swinging from a crane, near the location of his foes. He hops from crate to crate until he is only a span of several feet away.

"My actions: to reflect my love for you…" Matt sails across the gap and lands squarely on the top of the heavy load…

He tumbles down with it, landing with a shattering impact. The three scream – but he has purposely missed hitting them directly. The fear toxin has not made him unstable enough to take a life. Dan passes out from fright and his earlier wounds. One of Montana's legs is trapped below a splintered carton. And Ox…

…where is Ox…?

Matt sees Ox slipping out of one of the side doors, limping badly. He begins to climb down the mess of ruined boxes, to give chase… but his ankle twists below him. The fall has bruised him, possibly given him a hairline fracture. He grimaces and stands the best he can anyway.

His ears pick up the sound of sirens – several blocks away, not audible to anyone but him. The Ox is moving that direction, unaware. If the cops don't pick him up, Matt will… but not tonight.

It is awkward to clamber down the pile with arms bound, but he manages despite the pain in his ankle. Matt stumbles out to the street and into a nearby alley. If he is going to make it home safe tonight, he must get out of these bonds.

Gritting his teeth, he slams his billy club into the brick wall to loosen it from his grasp. It hits the pavement at his feet, and he shifts his shoulders into an unnatural position. He must slide the rope over his fist without letting the lead to the other arm tighten the knot too much.

He pulls… the rope pulling the leather from his hands, the tightening loop crushing the bones of his hand together… "My sufferings: to be endured for your greater glory…"

"Nnnnngh!" Matt grunts as the rope finally comes free. After disentangling the other arm, he doesn't bother to do more than shove the lariat into his waistband before staggering back toward his home.

"Matt!" Foggy Nelson exclaims a bit loudly as he opens the door to Matt's place. He lowers his voice quickly; if Elsa, the court-appointed nurse, comes out of Milla's room, it could be bad for the case. "Give me your hand." Matt has managed to peel himself out of his costume and into a set of street clothes… but he is obviously hurt.

Foggy doesn't ask what happened. There is little point, these days. "Help me to the bathroom, Foggy," Matt grates out. He doesn't ask why Foggy is here, either.

Foggy frowns and nods shortly. The two make their way to the bathroom as silently as possible. The door closes with a quiet click. Matt reaches for the first-aid kit below the sink, stifling a curse at the sudden shooting pain in his ankle.

"Matt…"

Matt looks up with annoyance, as if he hadn't realized that Foggy was still with him. "I'll be fine, I can handle this myself."

"Just like everything else, right?" Foggy asks with a touch of asperity. "Come on, just sit." Matt's gaze wavers for a moment, and then he slowly lowers himself to the closed toilet lid.

Without any unnecessary conversation, Foggy checks him over for injuries. He is untrained for this sort of work, but his hands are gentle enough for the task. As his cuts are washed, the chafing soothed with cream, his ankle bound with gauze… he drifts, his eyes closing.

When he awakens, it is just before dawn. And he is not alone – Milla's unmistakable scent, her breathing and heartbeat are only inches from him, lying beside him in the bed. And instead of Elsa, Foggy rests in the armchair beside the bed, dozing with a throw pillow tucked beneath his head. Matt smiles slightly, and kisses his wife's flushed cheek. When the dawn breaks, he'll be gone again, and this time he will succeed.

I want to do what you ask of me: in the way you ask,
for as long as you ask, because you ask it.
I pray, Lord, that you enlighten my mind,
inflame my will, purify my heart,
and sanctify my soul.